the secret singing garden
Sadie, Sadie, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?
The specifics elude me, but something to do with the elements: water, earth, sun, plant food [which is composed of nitrogen, phosphate, and potassium, which are of course elemental, hence a part of this list] and singing.
You could say that the singing is the air element. Or you could say it is the quintessential element, that elusive alchemist's 5th element believed to transcend the other four earth-bound elements [well, actually, the Earth is bound to the Sun, but the point is that there is a bond]. It is, I hope, the secret ingredient to life.
I selected my garden tenants based on drought tolerance and sturdiness. But they are quite different.
maroonery. I sing "Body Language" [it has the word konnichiwa in it] and Ue o muite [or rather, I hum it, since I can't remember the words] to make it feel at home.
I don't speak Spanish, Japanese, or French, but the way your, er, leaves, move definitely make sense...
Then I discovered a citronella plant, with a tag that declared it would keep mosquitoes away. I consider that pretty important, so onto the balcony it went. But perhaps it hasn't acquired that power yet, because
yesterday a mosquito flew lazily around me as I sat outside, then landed nonchalantly on my arm. I killed it. I'm not sure where this plant comes from, but since its name sounds like Cinderella, I sing Disney princess songs to it.
The first plant to grace my outside space was a shrub. It is my Esperanza, a hope that I can keep plants alive. I sing Spanish songs to it. Which would be the Waka waka, and Spanish versions of church songs. My repertoire isn't that big. El arroyito va, siempre va, siempre va. El arroyito va a las aguas a pasar.
I have better luck with my Irish moss. I know lots of Irish songs. It gets smothered with "The Parting Glass" and "Wild Rover" and "Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore."
This uncertainty likewise applies to my orchid. Actually, it hasn't had a flower for a year, so it doesn't really look like much of an orchid. And I don't know what to tell it. GROW, ALREADY
The specifics elude me, but something to do with the elements: water, earth, sun, plant food [which is composed of nitrogen, phosphate, and potassium, which are of course elemental, hence a part of this list] and singing.
You could say that the singing is the air element. Or you could say it is the quintessential element, that elusive alchemist's 5th element believed to transcend the other four earth-bound elements [well, actually, the Earth is bound to the Sun, but the point is that there is a bond]. It is, I hope, the secret ingredient to life.
I selected my garden tenants based on drought tolerance and sturdiness. But they are quite different.
This is my Japanese plant. I like it a lot, because it's not the typical color of greenery. I guess this makes it
I don't speak Spanish, Japanese, or French, but the way your, er, leaves, move definitely make sense...
I also have a lily. It's a leftover from Easter, so I sing Christian songs to it. Also Lavender Blue, Lilly lilly.
Then I discovered a citronella plant, with a tag that declared it would keep mosquitoes away. I consider that pretty important, so onto the balcony it went. But perhaps it hasn't acquired that power yet, because The first plant to grace my outside space was a shrub. It is my Esperanza, a hope that I can keep plants alive. I sing Spanish songs to it. Which would be the Waka waka, and Spanish versions of church songs. My repertoire isn't that big. El arroyito va, siempre va, siempre va. El arroyito va a las aguas a pasar.I have better luck with my Irish moss. I know lots of Irish songs. It gets smothered with "The Parting Glass" and "Wild Rover" and "Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore."
My English Ivy started out hearing British folk songs, but since the only one I know is "Scarborough Fair", we quickly progressed to the Beatles.
I haven't known what to do with my liriope, since I don't know where it comes from, but it seemed to be doing fine, so I let it be. Until it started drooping, then I sang "Go the Distance" so it wouldn't feel alone (it's got to find its way to feel like it belongs, you know).
This uncertainty likewise applies to my orchid. Actually, it hasn't had a flower for a year, so it doesn't really look like much of an orchid. And I don't know what to tell it. GROW, ALREADY
Lastly, I have a cactus. It sits quite complacently. Que será, será, it seems to say. Whatever will be, will be.
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